


A Week with Mamoru Chiba

by DreamsinPink



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: F/M, Gen, MamoChiba Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsinPink/pseuds/DreamsinPink
Summary: Mamo Chiba Week is in full swing on Tumblr, and I'm definitely in for some Mamoru goodness! 'A Week with Mamoru Chiba' hosts the stories I've created based on the week's prompts. Get ready for a whole lot of Mamoru.





	1. Childhood

Mamoru Chiba stood in front of the large, concrete building, squinting as he struggled to read the lettering on the side. The woman who had accompanied him from the hospital tapped her foot, eyebrow cocked as she waited for him to step forward.

"Come on now," she urged, waving her hand to hurry him along. He followed her inside, overwhelmed by the weight that settled in his gut. Children cried, and women yelled. Each room they passed was filled with beds, and the once brightly coloured walls were dull and worn with age. The woman stopped abruptly at a door labelled  _'5-8'_.

"This is your room," she said. "Take whichever bed you'd like that's free." She grabbed a piece of paper and marker from a nearby shelf, before pulling off a piece of tape and sticking it on the back. "Write your name on here, and put above your bed. Okay?" He found an empty place near the window, and did as he was instructed.

"Dinner is at six. Wash up beforehand," she said with the shake of her finger. The boy nodded, and the woman sighed. "Welcome home."

Mamoru smiled at a little girl who had watched the exchange, his shoulders shrinking as he sat on the edge of the bed. He slipped off his backpack, setting it neatly on the floor, and took in his new surroundings.

After dinner and back in his room, Mamoru met most of his roommates, who graciously filled him in on all the times and rules. They spun tales of horror about the head caretaker, Ms. Akuzawa, and listed all the older children to avoid. Numbness crept through Mamoru's body as the information seeped into his mind – was he here to be forgotten?

"Mamoru?" the caretaker called, silencing the children's stories. "You have a visitor." The room fell silent and Mamoru swallowed. As he left the whispers started, each child with their own version of what awaited the boy, yet none were the dream of adoption. That was never a reality for someone that old.

She led him into a small office decorated with nothing but a table and two plastic chairs, and told him to take a seat. The door clicked when she closed it behind her, leaving Mamoru alone with the hum of the florescent lights. He bit his bottom lip, brows knit as he fought to find some semblance of comfort in the uneven chair and blank, grey walls. He pulled a small photo from his back pocket, fingertips tracing the faces – would he even recognize them now?

The door opened, and Mamoru jumped, shoving the picture back into its hiding place. A tall man in a charcoal suit bowed politely to the caretaker before joining Mamoru at the table.

"Do you remember me?" the man asked. Mamoru took a minute to study his features, but frowned when no memory came. He shook his head, his eyes dropping to his hands as he picked at the skin around his nails.

"It's alright," he said, lips pulled into that pitiful smile that Mamoru had become so accustomed to receiving, but wasn't quite sure what it meant. "I'm Mr. Tanaka. I was your father's financial advisor and friend."

Mamoru nodded, head tilted slightly to the side as he mulled over the words.

"I helped your father with his money," the man explained, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from inside his suit. "Your parents were good people."

They had told him that before. The nurses and doctors at the hospital, and the few family friends that had stopped by after the accident – they had all told him what good people his parents had been. A small part of Mamoru swelled with pride at the compliment; even if he couldn't remember them he was glad they were thought of that way. "Thank you," his voice cracked, and Mr. Tanaka was struck with the realization that the person in front of him was just a child.

"I'm afraid I can't take you in," he stuttered, unable to look Mamoru in the eye as overwhelming guilt pooled in the pit of his stomach. "But I'll help you in any way that I can," he promised. "Give you a real shot." He licked his lips, eyes searching for the next thing to say. "The good news is your parents had a sizeable amount of savings, which will be yours."

Mamoru forced a half-hearted smile, feigning to understand the so-called  _good news_.

"Mr. Tanaka?" he said, taking a breath to gather his courage. "How long do I have to stay here?"

The man's shoulders dropped, and he swallowed the lump that rose to his throat. "Just a few years," he said, knowing that instilling false hope of adoption into the boy would do more harm than good.

Mamoru's head bobbed slowly as he processed the answer, mouth opening with so many questions, but unsure where to start.

"Well, I should get going."

"Mr. Tanaka?" Panic filled Mamoru's voice; he wasn't ready to go back there. He wasn't ready to be forgotten. "Will you visit me again?" His blue eyes widened, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Would you like me to?" he asked, and Mamoru nodded, causing a warmth lighting up Mr. Tanaka's face. "Then of course," he said, vowing in that moment to not let Mamoru Chiba become one of society's throw away children.

* * *

At first, Mr. Tanaka would visit every few weeks, bringing Mamoru a new book to enjoy. They would go for walks through the park or grab lunch at a nearby ramen shop, and he would listen to stories about his parents, stitching together the pieces in an attempt to make them whole.

He told Mr. Tanaka all about the orphanage; about the babies that screamed all through the night, and the toddlers who begged him for bedtime stories. He talked about Kentaro, an older, silver-haired boy who took him under his wing, ensuring that the bullies stayed far away. He was even learning how to fight.

"What about your studies?" Mr. Tanaka asked, concerned that

"I got an A on my test," Mamoru boasted, pulling it out of his backpack. "I brought it to show you." He handed over the paper, and Mr. Tanaka tapped with approval. "This is very good," he said, hiding his disdain for far too easy subject matter; a boy of Mamoru's age should be much further along. "How do you like classes?"

Mamoru shrugged. "They're okay. They're kind of boring."

"How about we get you a tutor," he suggested, "a smart boy like you needs a good education." He ruffled Mamoru's hair, as the boy beamed with pride.

* * *

As the years went on, the visits became less frequent, but Mr. Tanaka was always there when needed. He became the one constant in Mamoru's life, the light at the end of the tunnel, and that one piece of goodness that he clung onto. Life at the orphanage was easier for Mamoru than most, and he secretly wondered if forgetting his family was a blessing in disguise; he had no relatives to long for or memories to pine after.

When he reached middle school, he was moved from the children's care facility and into a group home. His first weeks there were rough, filled with bruises and bloody noses. His acceptance into a prestigious middle school brought about more injury, and Mamoru only ventured home to sleep.

At school he flourished, working hard, and joining clubs to keep himself as busy as possible. He made friends with peers, and at lunch with a group, but maintained all relationships at arm's reach. He observed more than engaged, but finally found a place where he mostly fit. When asked about his parents he masterfully changed the subject, only offering that they were originally from Tochigi as that's where Mr. Tanaka said his father was from.

The hours after school were spent in the library, finishing homework, and pouring over books. He stopped at the convenience store on the way home to flip through manga, taking extra care not to wrinkle the pages. On the weekends he bided his time slipping into abandoned buildings with broken windows, exploring other parts of the world that had been left behind. They didn't much care what you did as long as you were back before curfew.

A week before he started his final year of junior high, Mr. Tanaka invited him over for dinner. Mamoru followed him inside, slipping off his shoes and placing them side by side at the entrance. The apartment was bare, save a few photos on the wall and a teetering mountain of paperwork that sat at the edge of a desk.

"You can choose a few books from the shelf, if you'd like," Mr. Tanaka offered, pointing to the tall bookcase that stood at the end of the room. "I have more than I know what to do with," he said, watching as the boy approached apprehensively, and ran his fingers along a row of spines.

"Any of them?" Mamoru asked, eyes wide and brow raised.

"Any of them." Mr. Tanaka smiled, his age painted in the wrinkles on his face. "I don't know many people who share my love of books." He laughed, and Mamoru relaxed. "Go on then, I'll start cooking."

Starting at the top, Mamoru worked his way through the collection, stopping to inspect covers and leaf through pages every few books. A small piled had gathered at his feet on the floor, but he paused when he came across a photo sitting awkwardly amongst them. Mr. Tanaka was easy to recognize; he was young in the picture, his hair not yet peppered with white and grey. His arm was draped casually around the shoulder of a woman, and two young girls with toothless smiles grinned in front of them. It looked like a nice memory.

Mamoru's gaze swept of the apartment – there were no signs of that family now. Only paintings and landscapes hung on the walls, and there was no evidence of colourful toys or children's books left behind. The spare bedroom was without a bed, and instead housed a myriad of boxes, taped and forgotten with time. Maybe Mr. Tanaka had lost his family, too.

"Do you want furikake on your rice?" At the sound of Mr. Tanaka's voice, Mamoru averted his focus back to the books.

"Yes, please." He stepped into the kitchen, watching as his host hurried about.

"Could you carry these to the table?" Mr. Takana asked, gesturing to two bowls filled with rice, decorated with a mixture of seaweed, fish flakes and sesame. He set them neatly on the table, imagining that this would what living with parents would be like.

"I'm sorry it's nothing fancy," Mr. Takana said, as they settled into their meal.

"No." Mamoru shook his head, swallowing the spoonful of rice he had shovelled into his mouth. "It's great."

They bided their meal with talk of hobbies, work, books, and school. Mamoru relaxed in Mr. Tanaka's company, finding the peace of the building and unassuming conversation a welcome distraction from his normal every day. They avoided the topic of the group home; the bruises on Mamoru's arm a clear indication of what he considered his secret life.

"Why can't I live with you?" Mamoru asked, the sudden question causing Mr. Tanaka's face to pale. The boy's cheeks flushed with hurt; weren't they the same? The ones who their families had left behind.

"Mamoru," he said, "It's not…" The words failed to find their way, and he rubbed his chin in frustration. "I… I can't take care of a child," he stammered, tears welled in Mamoru's eyes.

"I'm not a child!" he shouted, hands balling into fists. "You wouldn't have to take care of me!"

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" he choked, fighting back sobs that threatened to rack his lean frame.

"It's just not." Mr. Tanaka sighed, wanting desperately to put Mamoru's mind at ease – things would get better. "Listen, I have an idea."

"Don't send me back there," he pleaded, as years of bottled emotions boiled to the surface.

"Just give me a little time."

Mamoru relented, and silence followed. He wiped away tears with the corner of his sleeve, eyes drawn downwards, and jaw clenched tight. Mr. Tanaka pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing there was something more he could do.

"I have a box for you," he announced, breaking through the thick tension. "It has some of your parent's things." He rose from the table and headed towards the spare bedroom.

"I don't want it," Mamoru said, arms crossed over his chest.

"Mamoru, there's not much left –"

"I said I don't want it," he snapped, heat crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears. "I can't even remember them," he yelled, the chair screeching across the floor as he stood to his feet. "I have to get back."

* * *

Mamoru stood at the doorway, clutching his bag in his hands. All of his earthly possessions fit neatly into a single suitcase, and now he had an entire apartment of space to fill. While their relationship was never quite the same, Mr. Tanaka had delivered in his promise, and on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, Mamoru moved out of the group home and into his own place.

"I wish I could be there with you," Mr. Tanaka had said on the phone through a fit of coughs. He gave Mamoru the address and the pass code to the building, leaving his first set of keys inside.

In the middle of the apartment sat a box with Chiba scrawled across the side. The flaps were frail with age, and a thin layer of dust coated the top and sides. It sat there for weeks, until Mamoru had summoned enough willpower to open it. With the memory of his parents now nearly extinguished, was he ready to dive back into a past he didn't remember? His decision was interrupted with a knock at the front door.

"Hi, are you Mamoru Chiba?" A woman stood in the hallway, her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, and brow dewy with sweat.

"I am." His forehead wrinkled – she looked familiar.

"I'm Kaori Tanaka," she said bowing politely. "I'm just here to drop of these." She motioned to a few clear garbage bags filled with piles of books. "He wanted you to have them."

"What?" Mamoru's breath hitched in his throat.

"He was sick, I guess he had been for a long time, but the old wretch didn't tell anyone," she rattled. "He didn't have a funeral or a memorial," she continued, grasping one of the bags by the handles and dragging it inside. Mamoru stepped back, unable to reply. "He never wanted one," she said, moving back into the hall for the second bag, stopping when Mamoru took it from her hands. "But I know you meant a lot to him."

"Thank you," he sputtered, heaviness settling into his shoulders. Kaori nodded, flashing him a sympathetic smile before turning to leave. "I'm sorry," Mamoru called after her, but she did not stop and only waved in recognition.

Closing the door, Mamoru turned to the books that had spilled out before him. He sat on the ledge of the entry, head buried in his hands. "He was a good man."


	2. Father

 

Usagi Tsukino awoke to the sound of floorboards creaking, and a cold indentation beside her in bed. She rubbed her eyes, waiting for the blurry digits on the clock to focus; it was 4:36am. With a heavy groan, she rolled onto her side, fighting her enlarged belly as she struggled to stand.

She opened the door and padded down the hallway, finding her husband at the kitchen table with books strewn around him. Small pieces of paper were scattered across the surface and spilled on the floor, and she watched bemused as he flipped pages and scribbled notes.

"Mamo-chan," she called, and he looked up startled, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "It's four in the morning. Come back to bed."

"In a bit," he said, rolling his shoulders before diving back into his work. Usagi shook her head, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. She moved towards him, hand pressed firmly against her aching back, and inspected the contents of the table.

"There are like seven cups of coffee here," she said, counting them as she sorted through the mess.

"I know." He nodded, eyes still focused on the book in his hands. "I couldn't sleep."

"I wonder why," she mumbled, moving the mugs to the kitchen counter before taking a seat. "What are these?" she asked, picking up a precariously stacked pile of papers and leafing through the sheets one by one.

"Flashcards," he answered, without a moment's break in his concentration. Usagi shook her head; she hadn't seen him this dedicated since he was preparing for the med school entrance exams.

Her gaze meandered over the colorful covers, mouthing each title from The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be to Dude, You're Gonna Be a Dad. "Where did you get all these books?" she wondered, forehead crinkled, and head tilted.

"From the library." He cursed as his pencil broke, and rapidly pressed the push button to release more lead.

"When?"

"Earlier tonight." He paused, searching the workspace for the right utensil. A puff of victory escaped his mouth when he found a yellow highlighter, and pulled off the cap to hastily mark up keywords in his notes.

"When earlier tonight?" She raised a single brow – he wasn't telling her the entire story.

"After you went to bed." His succinct replies were beginning to wear on Usagi's patience.

"I'm pretty sure the library was closed by then." She reached across the table, and placed her hand on his wrist. "Mamo-chan."

"Fine," he conceded, removing his glasses, and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I may have transformed into Tuxedo Kamen."

"You broke into the library to steal parenting books?" she asked, eyes wide with amusement as she hid a grin behind her palm.

"I didn't steal them," he bit – was his wife laughing at him? "I'm just borrowing them. There's a lot to learn."

"What's really going on?" Usagi's face swelled with concern, her voice soft and unassuming.

Mamoru sighed, set down his highlighter and straightened his posture. "In less than month, I'm going to be a father."

"Yes, I know," she said, golden tendrils swaying around her face. "That's what happens when you have a child." Usagi sat back in her chair, and gently rubbed her swollen stomach.

"No, you don't understand." He shook his head, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I don't know how to be a father."

"So you're studying." It made sense to her now, in a Mamoru-type of way.

"I've never raised child." His shoulders slumped, and his arm fell to the table with a thud. Panic crawled up his spine and settled in his chest, his thoughts a raging fire unable to control. He had no business being a father – he didn't even really know what a father was.

"You've taken care of children before," she said, "I mean we've babysat together, and you helped the kids at the or– " she stopped when she saw the pain flare up in is eyes. "You helped take care of the younger kids," she reworded, and Mamoru's expression eased.

"That's different," he insisted, unable to find the words to express his thoughts.

"You've looked after Chibi-Usa before," she reminded, though the short months she spent with them seemed like a lifetime ago.

"It's not the same." He licked his lips, and took a breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. "We have to start from the beginning – what if I mess her up?"

"You won't mess her up."

"What do we do if we have to go somewhere and she can't come?"

"She has grandparents, an uncle, and at least eight aunts. I think someone can watch her for a night or two," she answered with a flick of her wrist.

"Well what if something happens?" he asked, eyebrows drawn, and knee bouncing of its own accord. "What are we going to do if… if… she gets smallpox?"

"Is that even still a thing?" she gawked, witnessing the unraveling of Mamoru Chiba for the second time in her life.

"It could come back," he huffed.

"Mamoru—"

"Okay," he held up his index finger, "but what if she gets a new disease that no one has ever heard of before?" He knew he was being irrational, yet couldn't stop the questions spilling from his mouth.

"We'll find a cure."

"Or what if something evil comes back, and takes her?" he croaked, memories filled with flashbacks of a future that was no longer his.

"Then we'll defeat it."

"What if a boy breaks her heart?"

Usagi hoisted herself to her feet, and walked around to stand beside her husband. "Mamo-chan," she said, tracing soothing patterns on his back, "whatever happens, we'll get through it." She placed a comforting kiss on his cheek. "Together."

"I'll kill him, you know," he muttered, the frenzy starting to dissipate.

"I know." She patted his arm, and he grabbed her hand, not ready for her to leave his side.

There was one final thought weighing on Mamoru's mind – one question that had been on the edge of his lips for months. One that he fought back, afraid to utter in case saying it aloud made it true. But now, more than ever, he needed to know. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he wove his fingers through hers and asked, "What if it's not her?"

"It's her." Usagi took his palm and placed it on her stomach. "Close your eyes," she instructed, "and take a deep breath." Mamoru did as he was told, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as a familiar warmth spread through his soul. "See?"

Usagi planted her hands on his cheeks, and leaned forward. "You're going to be an amazing dad, okay?" she said, tone calm and words genuine. Mamoru smiled, brimming with love and appreciation for the sprite of a woman that had become his wife.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"Guess you just got lucky." She winked, and Mamoru chuckled, completely unable to resist her charm. "Since we're up, how about we take a stroll down to the convenience store and get some ice cream?" she suggested, pangs of hunger starting to awaken.

"For breakfast?"

"Your daughter really wants it," Usagi said, shrugging her shoulders and throwing her arms in the air." She also wants some fried chicken."

"Well, if it's for Chibi-Usa…"

"Yes!" she cheered. "I'll go get dressed." She paused in the doorway, watching him gather the myriad of books into an organized pile. "And Mamo-chan?"

"Hmm?"

"She already knows how much you love her."


	3. A Knight and His Shitennou

It started off innocently enough with a couple of bets here and there. The stakes were never anything of great value – a few shillings, an extra serving of apple crumble at dinner or a night spent polishing the victor's armour. But the older Endymion got, and the more arduous the tasks became, the higher the stakes rose.

Nights spent outside the prince's chambers waiting for dawn to break were now winding treks through palace passageways and rooted forests. Afternoons of boys sparring down by the river with pointed sticks had turned into solider's preparations for war, and every day they emerged with bloodied flesh and aching limbs. Studies of history and maths had evolved into strategy and politics, their answers now worth more than a mere right or wrong.

It was a heavy burden to carry, so they dealt with it in the most logical way possible.

"All right." Jadeite's eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his palms together. "Two nights of guard duty says I can saddle my horse faster than any of the three of you." He raised his brow, waiting for someone to take his offer.

"Still not playing these games," Kunzite said, lifting a harness from the rack. As the senior member of the royal guard, he had a certain disposition to maintain.

"You're getting desperate." Zoisite smirked, knowing just how to get under Jadeite's skin.

"Afraid to lose?" Jadeite challenged, head cocked to the side; there was no way in hell he could stomach another night of following Endymion around on one of his not-so-secret  _meetings_  with that wily Moon Princess.

"Make it three nights, and I'll take it," Nephrite said.

"Fine." Jadeite extended his arm, and they locked wrists in agreement. "First one on top wins," he said, and Nephrite nodded, tying back his long chestnut hair with a piece of rope. "Zoisite, count us down?"

On Zoisite's signal they gathered their tack, Nephrite in two trips and Jadeite all in one cumbersome load. The horses whinnied, hooves pawing the ground at the commotion around them. The two men closed buckles and tightened straps, fingers fumbling as they fought to be the fastest.

Zoisite and Kunzite watched with mute interest, heads shaking and lips curving. They broke into a slow applause as Nephrite clamoured onto his horse, and claimed his victory causing a string of curses to spill from Jadeite's mouth.

"Next three nights are yours," Nephrite gloated, looking forward to his upcoming nights of uninterrupted sleep.

Kunzite gave Jadeite a sympathetic clap on the back. "Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll bring that Mars witch along again," he whispered, and a slight blush rose to Jadeite's cheeks.

"She's not a witch," he grumbled, taking hold of his horse's reins, and leading him from the stable.

* * *

A fortnight later Jadeite rushed into the courtyard, where the rest of the royal guard waited for Endymion's audience with his father to finish. A childish grin spread across his face, and baby blues twinkled as he held a small leather sachet tightly in his hand.

"Gentlemen," he said, placing the package in his palm as if he were a showman. "Our next wager."

"What is it?" Kunzite asked, neck extending slightly to get a better look. While he continued to opt out, he did enjoy watching Jadeite lose. Repeatedly.

"Cloves." He untied the strings to reveal a handful of brown sticks. "Smell them," he instructed, handing the sachet to Kunzite. He cautiously leaned in, jerking back when the aroma overwhelmed his senses.

"How did you even get this?" Kunzite shook his head, passing the sachet to Zoisite.

"The chef found some for me in the kitchen," Jadeite explained. "You have a date with her next week, by the way." He flashed a saccharine smile, and pointed at Nephrite who rolled his eyes.

"I'll remember that during practice tomorrow."

"God, that is strong." Zoisite winced, holding the cloves at arm's length.

"Ugh," Nephrite cringed. "So, what do you want us to do with it?"

"Whoever spits out their portion first does two weeks sparring with Endymion." Jadeite crossed his arms, and straightened his back, unable to hide a smug smile – he had this in the bag.

"Deal," Zoisite said, knowing that two weeks of painful training was well worth a few minutes of odorous spice.

"Let's do it," Nephite agreed, licking his lips in preparation.

"Come on, Kunzite," Jadeite tried, but the general only shook his head in reply.

The three competitors stood in a circle, rolling necks, and shaking ankles to loosen their bodies. Jadeite filled each man's palm with cloves, tossing the empty bag to the side. They looked one another in the eye, simultaneously counted to three, and shoved the spice into their mouth.

The taste was almost pleasant at first, reminding them of autumn cider and Christmas treats. But the longer the cloves sat, the more they intensified, and the flavour began to burn their throats. Eyes watered, and noses ran, and before long Jadeite was spitting his mouthful into the garden, gasping for a clean breath of air. Nephrite and Zoisite soon followed suit, swallowing saliva, and scraping their tongues. They wheezed and coughed, backs hunched and hands on knees.

"I really thought I'd win," Jaedite lamented, sitting on the edge of the courtyard fountain, face buried in his hands.

"You're going to have a long two weeks," Zoisite said, shaking his head to hide his grin.

"I still have a welt on my leg from when I fought him six days ago." Nephrite pulled up his pant leg to show off his wound. "Who knew that scrawny kid would become such a great swordsman."

"The Queen was livid when she found out we were teaching him," Kunzite recalled, posture relaxing as a shallow sigh escaped his lips. He vividly remembered Endymion as a boy; bright-eyed, and ready to take on the world. Much had changed since those formative years, but he had grown into a man they were proud to serve.

"He was stubborn though," Zoisite added with a chuckle.

"He still is." Nephrite snorted, absently pulling a weed from between the cobbled walk.

"I still am what?" Endymion interrupted, face weary from his father's lecture.

"Stubborn," Kunzite said, and Endymion shrugged; they weren't wrong.

"Like a mule," Jadeite joked.

Endymion cocked his brow, and shook his finger. "I could have you flogged for that."

"But you won't," Jadeite replied, accustomed to the Prince's idle threats.

"True, I wouldn't want to lose my best  _babysitter_." Endymion winked, and heat seared up Jadeite's neck, curling at his ears.

"This is why you never tell women anything," Jadeite mumbled, instantly regretting spouting off to Serenity's guardians about the horrors of being a glorified babysitter.

* * *

The first couple days of sparring practice were rough, and desperate to pawn off at least one night of guard duty Jadeite had resorted to creating bets over anything that crossed his mind. When the chef had presented them a questionable pie, he convinced Zoisite to a guessing race of who could figure out the flavour first.

With the winning guess of rhubarb, Jadeite was relieved of his duties for the night, and Zoisite found himself pacing the hallway. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, and he squeezed his chin in thought. He feigned calm when servants passed, frantic steps pausing only until they were out of sight. He released a small sigh of relief upon seeing Kunzite stride down the corridor.

"Kunzite," he called, ushering him over with a wave of his hand.

He pulled his comrade aside, voice lowered and eyes watching for eavesdroppers. "It's getting out of hand," he said, teeth clenched. "He's brought her to the palace."

Kunzite's face paled, and his jaw tensed. He had told Endymion to keep his affair with the Moon girl outside the palace grounds. "Did anyone notice?" For weeks there had been whispers of the prince's betrayal; choosing the Moon Princess over one of his own, and it caused stir in the kingdom's underbelly. The last thing they needed was proof.

Zoisite swallowed the lump his throat, and nodded. He had seen a few servants with lingering stares lurking in shadows.

"We have to tell him."

They wanted to hate Serenity – well aware of the distraction she brought and turmoil she would cause. They wanted to forbid the Prince from seeing her, to run to the King and confess. But they couldn't. They saw how she affected him; he smiled and laughed, and the weight of responsibility seemed more manageable when she was around. His mind was clearer, and he no longer rushed ahead with hopeless abandon. Endymion was happy.

Kunzite knocked at he Prince's chamber door. "Sire," he said, ear pressed against the wood listening for a reply. "Endymion." When he received no answer, he turned the knob, his entrance accompanied by a loud creak.

Endymion leapt to his feet, and Serenity pulled a blanket to her chin, eyes wide with surprise.

"This better be –"

"We have to get the Princess out of here," Kunzite interrupted, lips pressed together as he straightened his back.

"What?" Endymion asked, cheeks crinkling and mouth agape.

"It's not safe,"Kunzite insisted, and Endymion knew from the piercing look in his eyes that now was not the time for questions.

"Trust us." Zoisite's fingers flinched at his side, the urgency clear on his face; he had always been horrible at hiding his emotions. Endymion turned and nodded at Serenity. "We won't let anything happen to her."

"I know."

Kunzite placed a heavy hand on the Prince's shoulder; a silent promise that spoke more than words ever could.

* * *

The world changed in the next few days. Black clouds cast a permanent darkness across the land, and the air hung thick with the scent of sulphur. No one knew what had caused this evil to rise. Some thought the gods came seeking retribution, while others blamed it on sorcery and witchcraft. A small band of rebels declared it was Endymion's association with the Moon.

People ran, seeking refuge in barns and cellars, peeking through cracks and holes to watch the massacre that spilled through their villages and towns. Those left on the streets became possessed, eyes glowing red, and limbs moving of their own accord. They followed their faceless leader, as it climbed in a cloud of smoke towards the sky – towards the silver Kingdom of the Moon. Despite their fervent efforts, the soldiers of earth were no match for the enemy's army.

Endymion and his four royal guards stood on a balcony, witnessing the chaos devouring their home. But as the darkness rose, the Prince's priorities shifted; he had to save her.

"I know this isn't what you signed up for," Endymion said, breaking the silence, and scoffing at his own choice of words. As children these men were not given a choice – they were forced into servitude for being the best. "I understand if you choose to remain on Earth. Your vows didn't quite cover the Moon," he joked, but no one laughed.

Jadeite was the first to speak, jaw determined, and face filled with fire. "Screw the vows." He stepped forward, making his choice clear.

"We fight with you," Nephrite said, moving to Jadeite's side.

"Wherever that fight may be," Zoisite agreed.

Kunzite nodded, and extended his hand. Endymion accepted with tears welling in his eyes, understanding possibly for the first time in his life that these men were more than soldiers, more than guards.

The following night they rode into battle, armour polished and swords raised. They knew the odds were against them, yet they pushed on, through the clouds of smoke and the stench of death, right by Endymion's side.

One by one they fought, and fell; blood spilled, and bodies numb with pain. Endymion wretched, his loss fueling him forward with a futile hope for vengeance. He was grateful they didn't see him lose; that they didn't see how he had failed them. And as the sword plunged into his chest he prayed that they had finally found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note, This story for Mamo Chiba week actually stemmed from a Rei x Jadeite piece I wrote for the SSRevMiniBang Challenge in 2017, Calming the Fire. Same world, same time frame.


	4. Personal Life

 

Minako Aino sat crossed-armed in a booth at the Crown Arcade, eyes narrowed and cheek twitching as she half-listened to her best friend rattle on about the love of her life: Mamoru Chiba. It wasn't that Minako hated Mamoru, but there was was something off about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

For starters, there was his mysterious past. He never spoke of family and rarely mentioned any friends. Money didn't seem to be an issue, yet she had never heard him mention work. She never heard him mention much at all, to be honest. He clammed up when she was around which was a warning sign itself; she was by far the easiest person to talk to. Aside from Usagi. And maybe Makoto.

Finding out he was Tuxedo Kamen added fuel to her suspicion, and while a great deal of that had been cleared up it all boiled down to one key point: people in masks could never be trusted. It was great that he was Sailor Moon's rock and all, but really, what did he contribute to the group?

Then there was the whole horrible past lives where he seduced Usagi's previous incarnation, and caused the destruction of the Silver Millennium. Well, kind of. Minako was willing to overlook the fact the war would have happened even without the fated lovers as a catalyst.

"Mina?" Usagi called, interrupting Minako's rampant train of thought.

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear anything I said?" Usagi asked, head tilted to the side.

"Oh yeah." She nodded, taking a sip of her milkshake. "Mamoru's great," she said, and flashed an apathetic smile.

"I've been talking about Mamo-chan too much, haven't I." Usagi lowered her gaze, and a faint pink rose to her cheeks. With the turmoil of battles and lost memories behind them, she couldn't help but gush and celebrate. And truth be told, she wanted her friends to see Mamoru the way she did: strong, dependable, loving, and loyal.

"No, it's fine." Minako shook hear head. "I'm happy for two, honestly." She  _wanted_  to be happy for them, but part of her was unable to trust him. "Where is Mamoru, anyways?" she wondered.

"At the library studying," Usagi said, phone in hand as she texted him another round of emojis. "He has exams next week."

Minako's brow raised, and a sly smile pulled at her lips: she was going to determine once and for all if Mamoru Chiba was truly worth the affection of her friend. She was pretty sure he wasn't, and was positive she could easily find out about the secret life he was leading. "Well," she said, shoving her arms into her jacket, "I have to get going!"

Usagi's brow knit in confusion. "Weren't we gonna go shopping?"

"Sorry Usa, change of plans. Rain check?" She tossed her purse over her shoulder, and threw some change on the table to pay for her shake.

Minako ran to the library, cheeks flushed and heart pounding when she reached the entrance. She brushed the bangs from her eyes, and went to straighten the red bow in her hair only to realize that it was a dead giveaway. Pulling it out, she folded it neatly and tucked it into her pocket.

The library was not high on the list of Minako's favourite places to visit. She walked through the wicket, chin up, pretending she had returned that book she had borrowed two years ago. She tiptoed her way through tall stacks, peeking through shelves and around corners until she finally spotted him at a table in the corner.

He poured over the textbook in front of him, finger skimming the page. His knee bounced, and he tapped the end of his pencil against his lips, deep in concentration.

Minako was already bored.

Grabbing a random book off of a shelf, she found a seat nearby – close enough to see, but far enough away not be noticed. She propped the book up in front of her, and whipped out her cell phone.

"Okay," she whispered, shoulders hunched to stay out of sight, "let's do some digging, Mr. Chiba."

She had looked at his social media accounts a few times before, but never for clues. Opening Facebook, she searched for his name, and scrolled through his timeline scrutinizing every post; most were from Usagi. His album hosted only his profile picture, and his friend count was embarrassingly low. No groups were joined, no interests listed, and no personal information aside from his birthday.

"Ugh, boring," Minako scowled, and took a few filtered selfies before checking a handful of other services only to yield no results. Mamoru Chiba was an internet ghost.

Minako peeked over her hardcover shield, eyes wide with panic when she realized her target was no longer in place. His books and bag sat idly on the table, but he was nowhere to be found. She strode over to his seat, checking over her shoulder. Extending her arm, she lifted the flap of his bag with her index finger, peering inside.

"More books," she said, moving them aside in hopes of unveiling a secret. Nothing.

Determined to find out where he went, she decided to start with the café in the library's entrance. It would only make sense that so much studying would work up an appetite, and his phone and wallet  _were_ missing.

Minako moved briskly, checking for signs of Mamoru as she went. Turning a corner, she slammed into another person, yelping I surprise.

"Minako?" Mamoru gasped, adjusting his glasses.

"Nope! Sorry!" she yelled, pushing past him and scurrying into the women's washroom, heart pounding.

Mamoru remained, brows furrowed, glancing behind him. The girl looked identical to Minako, but he shrugged it off as a coincidence; she wasn't wearing her signature red bow, after all.

Leaning against a washroom wall, Minako fanned her beaded face. Even in all her battles with youma she swore she had never run so fast. After checking her makeup, and adjusting her hair in the mirror, she ventured back into the hallway.

When she reached the wall that bordered the café, she took out her phone, angling the camera just right and snapping a photo to check for her target. Sure enough Mamoru was there with a paper cup in hand. She squinted, focusing in on the onigiri he was eating, the blue wrapper indicating it was tuna – the most boring kind.

She stayed on Mamoru's trail as he finished his snack, and returned to his table. This time she kept a safer distance, choosing to watch from between the bookshelves. Minako's attention perked up when he checked his watch, and gaze swept the room.

"Who are you meeting?" she whispered, fingers tapping against her leg.

A boy trotted up to Mamoru's workspace, out of breath and bowing profusely. The boy shrugged off his backpack and sat down across from him, pulling out a workbook and pencil case. He handed Mamoru an envelope, and the tutoring session began.

Minako frowned. Having a job  _and_  helping children didn't quite prove he was the untrustworthy lout she had painted him to be.

A few hundred liked photos, and seven rounds of Candy Crush later, Mamoru and his student were gathering their things, and Minako's shoulders relaxed with relief. She had gotten her fill of worn books and stale air, and prayed that Mamoru's next stop would be more eventful.

Keeping a safe distance, she followed Mamoru the way she came, jumping behind telephone poles and passersby each time he glanced over his shoulder. She arrived at his destination without being detected, but stopped to peer through the window before going in. Her breath fogged the glass, and when she decided the coast was clear, she stepped into the Crown Arcade for the second time that day.

"Minako!" Motoki waved, tucking his order pad into the front of his apron. "Back already?"

She did a sweep of the arcade, eyebrows knit, and lips pursed. "Did Mamoru come in here?"

"Yeah, he's counting inventory in the back." Motoki pointed towards the storeroom. "Do you want me to get him for you?" he offered.

"No!" Minako shook her head vehemently. "No, I just thought I saw him come in before I did," she rambled, "and didn't see him here talking to you, and I thought that's kinda weird." She forced a smile, and took a seat at the counter.

"Okay then," Motoki said, going back to his tasks at hand.

Minako watched him work, questions springing to the tip of her tongue. Had she forgotten about one very value resource? "Hey, Motoki?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you know Mamoru?"

"He started coming in a few years ago, and we just became friends," he said, trying to recall the first time Mamoru had come into the arcade.

"Has he always come in alone?"

Motoki rubbed his chin in thought, head bobbing as he answered. "Pretty much. Except not now that he's with Usagi." His head tilted to the side, "why?"

"Just wondering," Minako said, raising her voice in an effort to appear innocent. "Hey, does he ever talk about, like, his family or anything?" she pressed, twirling a strand of golden hair around her finger.

"Not to me. He's pretty private." Her posture shrunk.

"Why is he counting inventory?"

"He comes in a few times a month and does it," Motoki explained. "Helps us out, and he earns a bit of extra money. Said he's saving up to do something special for Usagi." He smiled, and Minako fought back a frown.

"Oh," she said, resting her jaw on the palm of her hand. "What's he planning for her?" She should have been thrilled that her best friend's boyfriend was planning a romantic surprise, but all she felt was further disappointment. Her intuition was never this wrong.

"Don't know." Motoki shrugged. "I didn't ask," he said, forehead crinkling. "What is this, twenty questions?" he joked.

"I'm going to go play some games," she announced, sliding off the stool.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said, grabbing a dish cloth, and getting back to work.

"Thanks." She sighed; Motoki had not been a valuable source of information at all.

Minako sat perched behind a tall video game, absently inserting coins, and smashing buttons, focus remaining on the door. She glanced at the clock on her phone, her head falling back dramatically as an aggravated  _ugh_  escaped her lips. How long could it possibly take to  _count_?

Feeling a tap on her arm, Minako turned to find a young girl staring at her. "Are you playing this?" the girl asked, pointing to the screen flashing GAME OVER in red.

"Shhh," she hissed, shooing her away with a flick of her wrist, eyes never leaving the exit.

Mamoru finally emerged from the back, and Minako ducked behind the machine, crouching low and peaking around the corner. She watched Motoki grab a motorcycle helmet from behind the counter, and hand it to Mamoru, who bowed a quick thank you.

"Bye, Motoki!" she called, rushing to the sidewalk to see Mamoru jet off on his motorcycle.

She made it half way down the block, but he was too fast. She clenched her jaw, lips pressed into a white sash – she was not going to lose him now. "Oh no you don't, Chiba," she said, finding an empty alleyway, and transforming into Sailor Venus.

Sailor Venus tailed her unsuspecting victim by rooftop, grateful for the numerous traffic lights and stop signs on Tokyo's streets. He pulled into an underground garage, and she instantly recognized his apartment building from the few times she had picked up Usagi, and the one time she had followed Tuxedo Kamen home.

Jumping onto Mamoru's balcony, she hid behind a leafy ficus and de-transformed - tennis shoes made for much better sleuthing footwear. Ducking behind the tree, she was able to see into his apartment through a narrow slit in the curtains. She watched as he entered, removing his shoes, and setting them neatly beside each other. When Mamoru moved out of sight, she pressed her ear against the glass. A door closed, and the shower started and Minako knew it was now or never.

She slid open the balcony door, shoulders tensing when it squeaked on the track. Slipping inside, she made a beeline for the bedroom – underwear and sock drawers were always the best place to start. Her head fell forward, hair falling in her face when she opened the drawer to find each item folded, tucked, and aligned in an orderly fashion.

His phone vibrated on the dresser, and she glanced to see nothing but emoji-filled texts from Usagi. Reaching deeper in the drawer, Minako's hand came to rest on a cardboard box.

"Oh my god." She scowled, pulling out a collection of condoms, and immediately shoving them back inside. Memories from a past life walking in on an intimate scene resurfaced, and she clenched her eyes shut to clear them out before moving onto the living room.

She stood in the centre of the room, hands on hips, debating where to start. The décor in Mamoru's apartment was definitely lacking. The walls were a boring beige, his furniture was white, and the only hint of colour were a few impersonal paintings, and a blueish rug on the floor. Hearing a voice, she tilted her head – was Mamoru singing? The idea alone sent a wave of giggles through her body as she ran a finger along the bookshelf.

"Jackpot," she whispered, finding a wooden box stuffed with a myriad of  _very_  personal-looking documents. With the shower still going strong, she emptied the contents on the floor.

She unfolded the first letter she picked up, briefly skimming the text. The Yamato Life logo was printed at the top, followed by length text that seemingly named Mamoru the beneficiary of some large payout. Minako's mouth twitched in thought as she folded the paper, and kept digging.

"Certificate of emancipation?" she read, pulling out another document. She struggled to understand the legal jargon, but picked up on a few key-points: Mamoru had been legally declared an adult at sixteen, and his parent's names were no where to be found. All it listed was a children's institution. With shaky hands, Minako folded the paper and set it back in its place. This was not the kind of secret she had been hoping to find; maybe her detecting was getting out of hand.

The water shut off, and Minako panicked, shoving the papers back where they belonged, and sprinting into a nearby closet.

"Great," she breathed, surrounded by jackets and shoes.

Through the slits in the door she could see Mamoru at the balcony window, towel wrapped around his waist, and arms folded over his chest as he looked at the darkening city streets. He disappeared, and she considered making a run for it, until she heard a rustling come from the direction of the kitchen. Maybe she would just wait until he fell asleep.

Minako's phone buzzed in her purse, and her breath hitched. She strained her ears, teeth clamping down on her lip, praying that the noise was muffled enough for Mamoru not to hear. Footsteps grew closer, and she squeezed her hands into fists, nails digging into her palm. The microwave dinged, and Minako released a silent sigh of relief as the creak of the floorboards moved further away.

The next few hours dragged on for an eternity – he ate dinner, and watched a boring documentary on TV. Her attention piqued when the telephone rang; maybe there was still hope that her gut was right. Minako pushed her ear against the slats in the door, listening intently. Her stomach sank with disappointment; she couldn't make out most of their conversation, but heard a few hearty utterances of  _Usako_.

An hour later the sound was silenced, and the lights turned off. Mamoru shuffled into his bedroom, yawning loudly, and shutting the bedroom door behind him. Minako gave him a good thirty minutes to fall asleep, before liberating herself from the closet.

Her legs were stiff and her back ached, joints cracking as she tiptoed towards the balcony. Her gaze fell upon a planner left open on a side table, and she took a moment to flip through – of  _course_  Mamoru volunteered at the hospital on Thursdays.

Her walk home was filled with heavy steps as she began to wonder if she had judged Mamoru too quickly. Based on her findings of the day he  _seemed_ like a stand-up guy, so why was she having such a hard time trusting him?

The following afternoon Minako met Usagi at the Crown Arcade for their usual milkshake and chat. Usagi tried hard to talk about every topic under the sun,  _except_  for Mamoru, an effort that her companion appreciated.

"Usa," Minako interrupted, unable to hold her question back. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Usagi nodded, and set down her phone, giving her full attention.

"What do you really see in Mamoru?" Minako asked, brow creasing. "I mean, he's just so…"  _boring_  was the first word that popped into her mind, but she bit her tongue.

"Maybe you just haven't given him a chance," Usagi said, shaking her finger. Despite her gushing and upbeat demeanor, Usagi could tell that some of her friends weren't meshing well with Mamoru, and while her memories were foggy, she knew that's the way it had always been.

"I think I have."

Usagi paused, and took a deep breath, her cheerful smile fading. "You see Endymion and Tuxedo Kamen," she said, palms turning over as she presented the two options. "And I can understand why you don't trust him based on that, but I don't think you've really gotten to know Mamoru Chiba." She shook her head, and Minako sat back in her seat, lips wiggling from side to side.

"Come on Minako," Usagi urged, "I'm not the same as Serenity, and you're not the same as Princess Venus – or even Sailor Venus in your regular life."

"Hm."

"So, you'll give him a real chance?"

"I'll try," she agreed, unable to shake the notion that Usagi had grown wise.

"Thanks." She reached across the table, and squeezed Minako's hand. "And Mina?"

"Yeah?"

Usagi crinkled her nose, mouth curving into a slight smile. "He'd really prefer if you just knocked next time you wanted to see inside his apartment."


	5. A Masked Hero

 

Tuxedo Kamen stumbled through his balcony door, gloved hand gripping his side. His limbs were shaky, and his muscles ached as he fell onto a chair. He discarded his mask, and threw his hat onto the couch, knowing the moment he changed into his civilian form, the pain would only increase. He slowly released the pressure on his waist, scowling at the blood that covered his once white glove.

Staggering to the bathroom, he removed a freshly restocked first aid kid from the cabinet, and sat down on the lid of the toilet. It would take time to recuperate; healing himself would need more energy than he currently had. With careful movements he unbuttoned his shirt, wincing as he pulled the fabric away from the gash.

After washing and bandaging the wound, he let the remainder of his guise fade. His skin throbbed, and it hurt to stand, but he managed to pad his way back to the living room and flop onto the couch. Grabbing the remote, Mamoru flicked on the TV, absently clicking through the channels as his mind reeled; tonight had been wildly unsuccessful.

It all started when he got a lead: the Mori Museum was unveiling a mysterious crystal that researchers had found while digging in the arctic. With scientists unable to determine a large portion of its source material, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the mystical jewel he had blindly been searching for.

When he arrived at the museum, they had yet to unveil the key exhibit. The audience was made largely of Tokyo's A-list society; celebrities, politicians, CEO's, and a handful of media. He blended in with the crowd, most of whom were quick to pretend that he was one of them – an advantage he knew the Sailor Senshi didn't have.

The curtain was lifted, and the crowd gasped, marvelling at the masterpiece that stood on a pedestal, alone in the spotlight. It was just before the power was cut that Mamoru had a tingling sensation run up the back of his spine; something wasn't right. Chaos ensued in the darkness, a few flood lights their only salvation. People panicked, rushing to the nearest exits to find them locked.

"Another monster attack occurred earlier tonight at the Mori Museum," a news anchor reported, bringing Mamoru jarring back into the present.

He sat up with a tired groan, and slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The television screen came into focus, and he found himself watching cell phone footage of the rare crystal unfolding into an acicular monster.

Bodies dropped as the monster stretched to its full height, spiked silver hair jetting out in every direction, framing it's pale, feminine face. A shrill cackle reverberated through the room, and even on the video you could see patrons' energy being drained.

"Thankfully, there were no fatalities due to efforts from local heroes, the Sailor Senshi, and Tuxedo Kamen," the anchor continued, recounting the numerous attacks that had happened over the last month.

Mamoru snorted. "Hero my ass," he muttered. If only they knew he had been there to steal the prized crystal in hopes of quelling his nightmares. Helping defeat the monster was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet, part of him wondered – if he had no quest, would he continue to fight?

Another video flashed across the screen, but he turned off the TV, the memory still vivid.

When the Sailor Senshi appeared, they broke through the window, sending shards of glass to the ground and instantly pulling the monster's focus. Fireballs blasted from Sailor Mars' fingertips, while Mercury covered the ground in a dense fog. They struggled to dodge bullet-like slivers, arms and legs nicked the more they fought.

Sailor Moon inched through the cover, igniting her tiara into a searing frisbee which she sent wailing towards her enemy. Her attack was not without recourse, and a wave of sharpened jewels came hurtling towards the young heroine.

Without a second thought, Tuxedo Kamen careened into her, knocking her to the ground and shielding them with his cape. He cried out as a crystal point cut through his flesh, but all he could hear was the gasp that escaped Sailor Moon's perfectly pink lips.

"Tuxedo Kamen," she breathed, fingers tight around his arm. "Are you okay?"

He saw the fear welling in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling.

"I'm fine." He nodded in hope that it was enough to convince her. "Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. "We have to get out of here."

"I can't." She slipped from his grasp, and shook her head, jaw set firmly, and hands balled into fists. "I can't leave them like this."

He should have left then and there, but he stayed, and he fought, for no reason and with nothing to gain. His side throbbed through the battle, and the bruises continued to pile - yet he pushed on – for her. Sweat beaded down his brow, and he found himself locked in a deadly match of a cane versus stalactite. And for a split moment when he thought he might lose he knew he'd do it all again if he meant she would be safe.

He had no idea who the Sailor Senshi were or what their endgame was. He didn't even know if they were on the same side – if there were sides at all. But here he was, night after night, coming home broken and bruised because she might need him.

Mamoru rubbed a hand over his face.

He didn't care if he was a hero to Tokyo, but he cared if he was a hero to her.


	6. Birthday

 

Mamoru Chiba woke to the sunlight beating on his face, and the soft hum of his cell vibrating against the nightstand. He groaned, and rolled over in protest, clenching his eyes closed as he wished the day away. His arm snaked out from under the covers, feeling blindly for his phone. With one eye open, he looked at the screen.

"Nope." He yawned, putting his device face down on the mattress. "Still August third."

With a cumbersome sigh, Mamoru decided to take on the day, tossing back the blankets and forcing his feet to fall on the carpet below. He shuffled into the living room, and as it had become his yearly tradition, he fished out a file, opening it to birth certificate.

_Date of Birth: August 3rd_

It never  _felt_  like his birthday. He had no memories of parties thrown in backyards, of blowing out candles, and eating too much cake. Most years the day passed like any other. Most years he spent the day alone; a fact he had convinced himself he was fine with. Almost.

Needing coffee to battle his emotions, he got dressed and headed to the Crown Arcade. He stopped to check the mailbox on the way out, a small part of him hoping that a card or note would be waiting inside. There never was, and he scoffed at the twinge of disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach.

He glanced at his phone every few steps as he made the trek to his favourite café. He never told anyone it was his birthday, so why did no one knowing make his chest tighten and heart sink? He shook his head, and raked his hand through his hair, reminding himself to get a grip. It was just another Saturday.

The glass doors slid open, and Mamoru stepped inside, grateful to be out of the sizzling heat. To one side, games sung, and teenagers cheered, while the other housed friends and couples cooling off with a cold treat.

"Mamoru," Motoki said, lips tight and eyes narrow.

"Morning," he replied, taking a cautious seat at the counter, brows knit in concern. "Is something wrong?

"Today is your birthday," Motoki stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How do you know that?" Mamoru's head jerked back in surprise, and he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Motoki disregarded the question; it didn't matter how he knew. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm just not much of a birthday person."

"Happy Birthday." Motoki pointedly set a mug in front of his friend, cheek still twitching with hurt.

"Thanks," Mamoru said, flashing an awkward smile.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me today was your birthday," Motoki grumbled as he scrubbed the already clean counter.

Mamoru shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee. "It's really not a big deal."

"It  _is_  a big deal," Motoki insisted, tossing the rag into the sink.

"Why? Everyone has a birthday," he said, tone increasingly curt. He knew Motoki meant well, but he didn't understand. Mamoru had seen the photo albums filled with toothless smiles, and years of memories.

"Party pooper," Motoki muttered, figuring it was best to drop the subject. Just in the nick of time, a breath of fresh air flounced through the door.

"Hi, Motoki!" she sang, settling onto a stool, cheeks flushed from the summer air. "Mamoru." She nodded.

Motoki slung a fresh cloth over his shoulder, and smiled. "Hey, Usagi, what can I get you?" She wiggled her finger, pulling Motoki aside, and whispered something in his ear. "Coming right up."

"What was that about?" Mamoru asked, unable to catch what was said even though he had strained to hear.

"Nothing," Usagi said, and a pang of jealousy crept up the back of Mamoru's neck. Friendship came so easily for the those two, that at times it made him feel more alone. He tried to think of a witty remark, but the words caught in his throat when Motoki placed two pieces of chocolate cake on the counter.

Usagi grinned, pushing one towards Mamoru.

"What's this?" he asked, staring down at the dessert. "It's ten o'clock in the morning."

"So?" Usagi grabbed a fork. "It's your birthday," she explained, putting the utensil in his open hand, and forcing his fingers closed around it. His body tensed at her touch and he felt a warmth rush through his skin. "And you have to have cake on your birthday, Mamoru," she said, clearly the expert.

Mamoru's focus flitted from the cake, to his hand, to the blonde eagerly waiting for him to take the first bite. His lips parted, and his brow furrowed, and the only thing he could choke out was, "How?"

"I saw it on your license a few months ago," Usagi said, her matter-of-fact delivery making it seem like the most normal thing in the world.

"And you remembered?" She nodded. "Why?" Mamoru's heart pounded in his ears, and he prayed the increasing heat was not visibly swelling on his cheeks.

Her head tilted to the side, soft tendrils of golden hair framing her face. "Because we're friends."

The answer was so obvious to Usagi, and Mamoru felt a wave of comfort course through his veins. It was an alien feeling that caught him off guard, and he wondered if this is how birthdays were meant to be. He flashed her a heartfelt smile that lit up the corners of his often stoic expression, and dug into his slice of cake, Usagi happily following suit.

They ate, and she rattled on, bouncing from one topic to the next. Mamoru's shoulders relaxed, and he outright laughed at some of her notions, which only egged Usagi on.

"Oh!" She grabbed the purse she had flung over the back of the stool, and pulled a small package. "Here," she said, "Happy Birthday." The wrapping was messy, with extra tape stuck to the bottom, and a mound of curls set to one side.

"Open it," Usagi urged as Mamoru struggled to keep his emotions at bay. He couldn't tell her how much it meant, but he vowed to one day repay her.

He slipped off the ribbon, and gently tore the paper, unfolding the pieces to reveal a set of two patterned handkerchiefs; one in black one in white.

"I thought they might be useful," Usagi said, a blush staining her face. "I did the embroidery myself." She pointed to the bottom corner, where she had carefully sewn his name. "I'm sorry it's not perfect," she apologized, rolling the hem of her skirt between her fingers.

"No." He shook his head, and taking her hand in his. "It is. Thank you." He gave her a light squeeze – the only way he could think of to prove to her his gratitude was genuine.

Usagi beamed, and a breath of relief escaped her lips.

When Mamoru returned home he laid the handkerchiefs on his nightstand, a smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe next year, August third wouldn't seem so bad.


	7. Drops

 

"Dammit!" Mamoru swore, slamming his fist down on the counter in protest. He placed his phone down and closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he took a deep, controlled breath.

"What happened?" Motoki asked, bemused at the rare sight of Mamoru losing his cool.

"Nothing, it's just this stupid game," he huffed. "I was  _this_  close to beating the level." He squinted at his fingers which he held about an inch apart. Sharking the frustration out of his hands, he scooped up the device, ready to try again.

"What game?" Motoki wondered, trying to peer over from his position behind the counter.

"Forget it." Mamoru hastily pressed the  _home_  button as a slight blush rose to his cheeks. "Can I get another coffee?" He slid his empty mug forward.

Motoki leaned in and before lowering his voice and checked over his shoulder to see if any patrons were listening. "Is it one of those  _adult_  games?"

"No!" Mamoru scowled.

"It's just you haven't had a girlfriend for a while, so…" He shrugged, finding complete enjoyment in watching his friend squirm.

"It is  _not_  and adult game," he insisted, forehead knit and eyes darkening with irritation.

" _Sure_  it's not." Motoki winked. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

"You're annoying," Mamoru growled and rolled his eyes, adeptly navigating back to the game, and handing over his phone.

"A Sailor Moon game? Really?" Motoki asked, brow cocked as glanced at the colourful graphics.

"It's addictive" Mamoru said, running his fingers through his hair. "You have to collect the five Senshi, and Tuxedo Kamen," he explained as Motoki handed back his phone.

"How many do you have?"

"Here." He turned the screen towards his friend, showing off his impressive collection of characters – five heroines, and one hero. "I've already got them all."

"Everyone but Sailor Moon is level one," Motoki noted, a ridiculous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Your infatuation knows no bounds."

"It's not an infatuation," he argued, snorting at the thought.

"Whatever. Let me try this." Motoki took the phone and leaned against the counter. Mamoru instructing him how to play, and coaching him as he battled through, matching colourful gems and collecting pieces. They groaned in unison when the timer ran out, cursing their lack of luck.

"I get it now, that was just practice," Motoki said, shoulders hunched, and fingers hovering over the screen as he waited for the next round to start.

"What are you boys looking at?"

At the sound of a familiar blonde's voice, Motoki and Mamoru leapt out of their skin. "Nothing!" they chorused, fumbling to set the phone on the counter - screen down. They pasted on innocent smiles as Usagi and Minako joined them at the counter.

"Tinder?" Minako assumed, nodding in understanding as Usagi bit her lip, forcing down the twinge of jealousy that flared in the pit of her stomach – not that it mattered to her, Mamoru could date whoever he wanted.

"What? No!" Mamoru said, feeling the heat crawl up the backs of his ears.

Minako narrowed her eyes, looking at them before guessing, "Grindr?"

"It's not a dating app." With a heavy sigh, he flipped the phone over and showed the girls the screen.

"Sailor Moon Drops? I love this game!" Usagi beamed, mood instantly changing. "Add me on it!"

"Me too!" Minako chimed.

"Add you on it?" Mamoru echoed, completely unaware of the game's social aspect. He had only downloaded it to see what they made of Tuxedo Kamen and Sailor Moon.

"Yeah, you add friends and then send them hearts every day…"

Mamoru cleared his throat. "I don't know how to add you…" he admitted.

"Give me your phone," she ordered, palm out flat. He handed it over as Usagi grabbed her own device and pulled up her credentials. "You play as Sailor Moon?" she asked, glimpsing at his character list.

"Mamoru here has a bit of a crush on Sailor Moon," Motoki said, busying himself by drying glasses as soon as he caught Mamoru's steely glare. Usagi's ears perked, and she couldn't tell if she was excited or disappointed; would he still like Sailor Moon if he knew her true identity?

"No, I don't." Mamoru gritted his teeth, already having suffered enough embarrassment for the day.

"He does," Motoki mouthed over his shoulder, nodding fervently.

"I can see you." Mamoru's lips pulled into a white sash.

"Sailor Moon is great, but wouldn't you say that Sailor Venus is the prettiest of them all?" Minako said, flicking her golden locks over her shoulder, and flashing a charming smile.

"Sailor Venus is okay," Mamoru said, his indifference causing Usagi to hide a giggle behind her hand.

"Just okay?" Minako's cheek twitched; she knew she got a bad feeling from Mamoru for a reason.

Usagi swallowed a lump her throat, gathering the courage to ask, "what do you like about Sailor Moon?"

"I admire her determination," he said, unable to count the number of times she persisted, even when the odds were bleak. He knew from her encounters with his alter-ego that she feared stepping onto the battle grounds, but her desire to protect outweighed her instinct to run. "I mean, all of the Sailor Senshi are brave, but there's just something about Sailor Moon."

While appreciative of the praise, Usagi frowned.

"The short skirt also doesn't hurt," Motoki joked, and the girls rolled their eyes.

"Motoki," Mamoru scoffed; her choice of clothing had absolutely had no bearing on his feelings towards Sailor Moon. "I mean, she's attractive, sure," he babbled, gaze dropping as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"So, you  _do_  have a crush on her!" Minako clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling at the gossip.

"It's not like that," he insisted.

"Come on, Mamoru, it's  _normal_  to have a crush on idols," Motoki said, causing Mamoru to sink into his seat. "Or… superheroes," Motoki corrected. "Heroines?" He stroked his chin and mentally debated the proper terminology.

"Yeah," Minako flicked her wrist, "I mean, Usagi has a massive crush on Tuxedo Kamen." Mamoru jerked back ever-so-slightly, trying to hide his surprise.

"MINAKO!" Usagi cried, turning a brilliant rose.

"What? I was helping Motoki prove his point," Minako said, and Motoki nodded.

"I can't believe you just announced that to the world." Usagi slumped onto the counter, face buried in her arms, and legs curling around the stool's base.

"It's not like it was a giant secret." Minako shook her head; Usagi was being dramatic.

"Tuxedo Kamen, huh?" Mamoru said, brow raised as a smile tugged at his mouth. The idea that Usagi liked his alter-ego fueled the possibility that maybe, she could like him. An entire scenario of him confession and her running into his arms played out in his mind.

Minako watched the glimmer of hope play across his expression, and her forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Shut up," Usagi mumbled. "He's cool."

Not one to miss a beat, Minako added, "dreamy, I think the was the word she used the other day." She gave a saccharine smile as Usagi glowered at her from the corner of her eye.

"Can we talk about something else now,  _please_?" she begged.

"Fine," Minako relented as she took out her phone, and typed herself a note – a reminder of their conversation to file away for her  _Mamoru is Tuxedo Kamen_  theory.


End file.
